


icarus on fire

by SashaSeriously



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble Sequence, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Purple Prose, References to Depression, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2020-10-06 18:20:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20511407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SashaSeriously/pseuds/SashaSeriously
Summary: On some nights, Anakin is nothing more than a flickering ember, nothing more than a gleaming spark of light in an endless black: it’s something like hope, barely there but visible enough to drive the shadows back just a little.There is a sickly kind of strength in that, he thinksOrAnakin Skywalker is reborn in another universe as James Tiberius Kirk





	1. the dying light

**Author's Note:**

> As the customary disclaimer goes, I own no recognizable characters or elements included here. Believe me. I'd be much richer if I did.
> 
> Warnings for allusions to slavery, violence, and past character death (all pretty much cannon typical)

Of all the lights in the sky, Anakin admired best the stars. In the desert the sun glares and burns and burns.  
It reminds him too much of himself.  
The moon only reminded him of the crushing loneliness that pervaded his heart: the lone lantern in the midst of a salted wasteland. 

The youngest star in the black; oh how bright you burn, so much light against so much more dark; You remind me of a caged sun: all your light grasped so tightly to your heart  
(dontletthemtakeitfromyou dontletthemtakeit)  
your precious secret; you are not Icarus: you do not love the sun but, you still wish to fly though you can’t remember what wings feel like. Yours were taken from you too soon.  
(Don’t let them steal your light)

On some nights, Anakin is nothing more than a flickering ember, nothing more than a gleaming spark of light in an endless black: it’s something like hope, barely there but visible enough to drive the shadows back just a little.  
There is a sickly kind of strength in that, he thinks. 

There are other times when he becomes not a star but the sun, bringing the night back to day and giving life even as the other stars die.  
It is equally as lonely being the only light as it is being only a light. 

Which is worse? He wonders. Being the one spark in a sea of dark or being too bright to touch?  
It’s something of a puzzle, like Dionysius shards, that you can miss what you have never truly had.

Freedom has never been his, not really. It has never touched him the way that Fear (lightly at his shoulder, breathing raggedly in his ear and always whispering) and Anger (gripping his wrist as tight as a lover and grinding its teeth) have.  
Freedom has never held him close like Hungry and Hurt have done: closer than chains, prison bars, and the frail arms of his mother as she holds him like he’ll disappear (and maybe someday he will).

Rather, Freedom leads him on with the occasional backward glance over the shoulder and a coy smile: a tease, an enticement and always just out of reach. 

He thinks that he does not know what freedom is really: has lived Without for always but he thinks that maybe there is something more, something greater than this; that maybe he can be better, greater.

Unfortunately, he never gets that chance. His life, such as it is, darkens even as his destiny seems ever brighter.  
Anger grips him stronger in the absence of Hungry and Hurt.  
Fear, his constant, whispers in his ear- the vice at his throat tightening all the more.

In his quest to stop the voices (savethemsavethemsavethemsavethemALLsaveHER) there is fire and darkness and death and it burns. 

Pain is an old friend and Freedom is nothing but the lie he had always believed her to be.  
He wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all and he wonders if he had ever really had a chance; wonders if all this time, the idea of escape had only been the illusions and delusions of a desperate creature (not a man, less than a man, less than human); a creature so lost to the light that he forgets the sun .

But he never forgets the stars. 

And one day the stars remember him too.  
He dies in the arms of his last (only) good thing. He dies forgiven, paid for in blood and fire. It is not enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've actually been working on this and a couple other ideas for a while and I've finally got up the courage to post. Yay me! This bit is only a very mild introduction to how I plan to write Anakin in the story. He's a little different from his cannon self though definitely still retains much of his movie-verse darkness. He's more melancholy at this point, honestly. Next chapter will introduce the Star Trek. I hope ya'll like what I've done so far!


	2. waking embers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for canon typical character death, depression, implied alcoholism and child neglect

The light returns, blindingly bright and he thinks the screams might be his own. He is different-new. He is named Jim at the request his dying sire.

As Jim he is, better: bottled sunlight concentrated until it’s hotter than a thousand desert days. He still knows Without (Hurt and Anger and Fear his steady companions lingering even now after so long) but it is as Jim that he knows Hope (that thing that perches on the heart and singssingssings) and it is Hope that allows his light to burn all the brighter. 

As Anakin, all the light had been gathered close (dontletthemtakeitdontletthemtakeit) and what had escaped had been tainted red by Anger and a bone deep weariness that persisted despite all the hollow comforts of the flesh. 

As Jim, his fingers cradle what little light he has with all the tenderness he can feel, and all that he can not. In this life, they cannot take it from him.

It is his first time having a father, a strange experience that manages to halt his thoughts at the very idea.  
George is, for all that he only knows his voice and his pictures (his sacrifice), a star: a veritable wellspring of goodness. He is great and Anakin thinks that maybe, even if he had never gotten a chance to meet him, George is a father who he can claim with pride. Not bad for his first go really.

He misses Shmi more than he can remember ever doing since the day of her death. Like an old wound opened again under stress the pain is sharper than the dull ache he had long since grown used to. 

The woman who could have been his mother in this life- a fading, unseeing shadow who looks at him more and more as if he were someone else- is like the tearing of stitches on a gash thought healed.  
She is a far cry from the haunted bastion of quiet strength that was Shmi. 

He cannot decide if he misses her voice or her arms more. Maybe her eyes, he thinks, as Winona's glaze over under the influence of alcohol and despair. 

He does not miss the desert, does not miss the burning days and the frozen nights and the futility of walking through sands where one’s footprints vanish almost as soon as they are made. Even after all these years, he walks with a strange dancing gait: as if the floor beneath him would vanish if he trod too hard upon it. It wreaks havoc on the balance of a child, especially one who should have never seen a desert, who grew up in the golden fields and endless plains of Iowa where the ground is solid and the breeze is cool.  
He is still unused to this new body, still walks with the legs of his taller (older) self. These limbs are too short and too brittle.  
He breaks his wrist twice before he can speak in full sentences:  
he does not remember how to be delicate. 

His reflection startles him every time he catches its eye; he is always surprised by his right hand, always expects the cool, inhuman touch of metal and not the warm flesh that meets him.

Breathing, on the other hand, is something he revels in more than anything else. It is...an immeasurable joy to taste the free air again without the help of a respirator. There are times when he forgets about it, only to be delightfully reminded by the quiet: the inhale and exhales of his mouth no longer come with the loud suction of the mechanical valves keeping him from falling apart at the seams where they bound him together.

There are times when Anakin feels stronger than he ever has: reborn at his most broken and purified through blood and fire and suffering. Perhaps this time he might finally have a chance-

At other times it is not enough- will never be enough.  
He is an old man in the body of a child, a boy haunted by the arms of his mother and the voice of his lover (Anakinplease)- his beloved wife. 

There is a difference between an old man and an old slave, one knows the wisdom of a broken horse, the other knows the heart of a kicked dog.

But his new-found youth brings back more than the phantom chains about his wrists. It also brings back his love of speed.

He’s always been a runner, first from his masters and then from everything else. So it is perhaps not surprising that, even with all the jaded memories of a man well into his fifties and sixties, he still lifts his step-father’s keys from his pocket and guns the engine of his father’s corvette.  
He thinks he can be forgiven for the unbridled scream of delight that escapes his lips as the fields around him blur to nothing but light.  
It is almost like flying.

But it isn’t.  
He must remember that. He is no longer a part of the stars. He is no longer bound by anyone beneath the sun or sky.  
“Citizen, what is your name?” (areyouaslave?)  
My name is Anakin and I am a person:“My name is James Tiberius Kirk,” he tells the traffic droid as he watches his father’s car fall to the bottom of the revine. 

And he is.  
He is. He is. He is.  
But he is also Anakin, son of Shmi, born a slave and, perhaps, he died free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have returned with another chapter! So first things first. Thank you to those of you who left kudos and comments!! It's so lovely to know that you guys enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoy writing it. So keep them coming- I love to hear what you guys think.   
Another awesome thing: this fic is now part of a collection! Identity Crisis now includes this work in its listings so ya'll should check them out. They have quite a few stories worth reading over there.   
Finally, about the chapter. I have introduced the Star Trek stuff. It's going to be pretty much completely based on the recent films because I felt that the dialogue there would be best suited to this fusion story. I am excited to hear how ya'll feel about my Jimikin and hopefully I'll be posting more sometime next week.


	3. forest fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for cannon typical violence (Tarsus IV is its own warning)

He finds out later that Sam never intended to come back.

His elder brother by three years leaves him in the house of his step-father and his (not) mother.  
He thinks that he should be used to everyone leaving him, by now (QuiGonMotherAshokaObiWanRexPadme) but he isn’t and it hurts. Hurts more than the blankness of his not-mother, more than the rage of his the man she has married. To know that one who was supposed to have acted as protector and teacher and hero-  
left him.

Is this how Obi Wan felt on Mustafar? (youweremybrotherAnakin) Is this how Padme had felt beneath the force at her throat? (Ilovedyou-)

He supposes it is fitting for the traitor to be so betrayed (youliar). Another penance for the sins of his previous self (it is toolate for me son). Punishment for fearing the inevitable.

It seems he has gone from one extreme to another: from fearing death to being completely fearless of it.  
He realizes this as he watches the cherry red corvette hit the ground.  
He realizes it as he watches his (not) brother slam the door on his way out (pleasetakemewithyoutakemewithyoutakemewithyouplease) with nigh a backward glance.  
And it is cemented on a barren moon far from Riverside, Iowa. On Tarsus IV under the hands of Hurt and Hungry (sosohungry), where the last of his child-self dies forever. 

It is funny: he finds the slavery of famine familiar (almost like home) as he watches men turn to beggars, to thieves, to animals.  
It is like Tatooine under Hutt rule, the savagery that dwells in their eyes and the dogs who never forget the taste of blood in their mouths. 

But it can never compare to the dying stars that live within his own. They do not touch him (they do not dare). He is a child of the universe, so much more so than these colonists and researchers. He carries twin suns in his eyes and the the wastes of a desert on his back. The desolation here is nothing he has not trod through before.

When the Vulcan ship arrives, he is alone in the house, alone but alive.  
Bones jut out from his hollowed cheeks and his eyes are darker than any boy’s should be but his head is unbowed (he is not a slave here).  
He has faced the fires of Mustafar and the ice of the void, he has faced much worse than Hungry. 

The officers on the ship look at him with curiosity- they’re a research vessel, after all. But after the first few inquiries led only to a blank stare with too old eyes (much older than any of them) they leave him alone.

Jim keeps the unnatural gauntness for the rest of this life. Later he’ll blame it on the drinking (though that is mostly for show) and the absent mindedness of genius (a prodigy in every universe it seems). 

Tarsus IV becomes only another shadow that lurks in his eyes.

When he returns to the Riverside house, Winona does not embrace him and his step-father almost makes him wish he had died on that moon. 

Jim does not last another year before he, too, is slamming the door for the last time and vanishing into the night (bebraveAni).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long wait but college has been taking up alllll my time. The good news, however, is I have officially reached the winter holidays so I will now have some time to post more Jimikin.  
Thank you to all who have commented! You guys really help me be confident enough to share my writing with the world. Until next time!


	4. rising sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update? In such a short time? It's more likely than you think
> 
> Disclaimer for any recognizable dialogue or fandom elements as they are not mine I am only playing with them
> 
> Warnings for cannon typical character death, oblique references to alcoholism, cannon typical violence, and depression

Jim is nearly two decades when he finds himself fighting for a pair of defiant brown eyes for the second time in two lives. 

Over the years there had been many women but, for all his trying, none have ever compared to his wife. He has never forgotten her and so none of these girls ever experienced more than a few hours of his company and even less of his attention.

Her name is Nyota Uhura, a student at the Starfleet Academy, and she reminds him painfully of her.   
She has the same spark, the same iron will, and the same dignity. Her rejecting him is only the icing on the cake.   
Padme would not have liked an arrogant Jim Kirk very much either.

He does not actually hold any feelings for her, she is only a child to him, after all. But her resemblance to his lost love is...compelling.   
He wanted to see how far it went. How close she was to his Angel. How much of Padme she could bring back into the world before he could not bear it anymore.

He’s probably become a bit of a masochist.

And then he sees those men come up behind her: grouped together close with red cheeks and gleaming eyes like slavering beasts. He’s never seen their faces but he knows their type: big men with dark hearts, wandering hands, and a mean streak from here to Coruscant. Alone they are like rats but in a group, they are wolves, emboldened by each other’s cruelty.  
For good reason, really. He would lose if he confronted them on his own. 

He would lose but...so would they. While he played drunk brawler and town idiot, the girl and her friends could escape. They called him the hero with no fear once and, though it is one of the more untrue titles he has ever borne, it also rather aptly describes his approach to strategy.

They end up breaking his nose, bruising his right eye and he’s pretty sure their commander ruptured his eardrums with that whistle of his, but he’s left all four of them nursing broken fingers and bruised ribs. 

It’s worth it, he decides calling for another drink, it’s worth it to save Padme’s eyes.

“You alright, son?” 

Anakin wonders if he is forever doomed to meet fragments of his past in the people of this universe. 

Qui Gon’s face stares back at him with the same warmth and the same compassion buried deep in the laugh lines around his mouth. It seems fitting that the eyes of the first man to see him as more than a slave lie in the face of the man who sees him as more than some drunk hick.

“You know I couldn't believe it when the bartender told me who you are,”

He almost laughs out loud, the alcohol, head trauma and the complete ridiculousness of the situation making it even funnier than it probably should be. And who am I, Captain Pike?

“Your father's son” The chosen one  
He hears it loud and clear, the echo in his mind in two voices, Qui Gon’s and Pike’s. 

He will never be just Ani or just Jim. 

In escaping one master he gains another: fate, prophecy, everything dooming him forever to the slavery of destiny. 

He definitely needs another drink for this.

“For my dissertation I was assigned USS Kelvin...Something I admired about your dad,  
he didn't believe in no-win scenarios,”

Jimmy, the boy who he could and would have been if not for famine and memory, automatically flinches away from any mention of his father, of George Kirk. 

But Anakin has been smiled at by the same men who kicked his mother. He has shaken hands and bowed his head to senators, queens, and emperors and been the dutiful slave to many masters, not the least of which is death itself.   
He does not flinch.

The drink is bitter in his hand and it tastes like iron from the blood dripping from his nose. He does not waver when he meets Pike’s (Qui Gon’s) eyes. “Why are you talking to me?”

“That instinct to leap without looking, that was his nature too,” He pauses as Anakin remains unmoved, not even to wipe the blood from his mouth.   
“Your aptitude tests are off the charts, so what is it? You like being the only genius level repeat-offender in the Midwest?”

The shadows in his eyes rise up in challenge as he bares his teeth in a parody of a smile. “Maybe I love it,”

“Or do you feel that you were meant for something better? Something special?” Pike either does not see or does not acknowledge the darkness in Jim Kirk’s eyes, the years that should not be there, could not be there.   
He stares hard at the boy with blood stained teeth with nothing but conviction in his expression.   
“Enlist in Starfleet. If you’re half the man your father was, then the corps could use you.”

This time Jim does laugh, “Enlist?”   
Rex’s face flashes across his eyes (allmyfault) and then Ashoka’s (allmyfault) and then the faces of the whole 501st, his men, his brothers, his family.   
The lance of pain through his heart twists. AllgoneallgoneallgoneAllDead- he forces himself to stop and carefully sets down the glass in his hand.   
He absently wipes the blood from his mouth, the sight of it making him curl his lips bitterly. 

“You guys must be way down on your recruiting quarter for the month,” he manages from around the sudden lump in his throat.   
He’s choking on the sudden influx of faces and voices, drowning in memories and he hates it. If he wasn’t so afraid of tapping into the Force again he would have shattered every bottle in the bar (he still might). 

And Pike is still talking.

“You can be an officer in 4 years, you can have your own ship in 8. You understand what the Federation is, don't you? It's important, It's a peacekeeping and humanitarian armada,” 

Yes. He’s definitely heard all this before. The speech mirrors the ones he had heard in the Krech. 

Anakin jerks away from the thought as if burnt, and perhaps he is/was. It is not an unfamiliar feeling.

He stands up. “We done?” Anakin doesn’t wait for a response. He’s already out the door and running for his bike.   
He ignores the captain’s voice echoing behind him. He doesn’t want to hear anymore.

It feels like his entire body was back on Mustafar, back on fire- dying for the first time. 

He has to get away. He can’t be around here anymore, around these people, these ghosts. 

It is too much. First Padme and then Qui Gon. Jim feels haunted and hunted.

Why could they not just leave him alone? Had he not done enough to them already? Is he not already damned?

It seems like hours, hours spent driving with no destination beyond Away (anywherebuthere) before he can finally bring himself to pull over on the side of the dirt road.

He’s shaking.   
He hadn’t noticed until now, but now that he no longer has the numbness of alcohol and the chill of the wind to fall back on it’s painfully obvious.   
There is salt on his cheeks and his nose aches something fierce. 

All in all, he feels like shit. 

Jim slumps against the side of his bike, fisting his hands in the dirt and grass (so different from the sand he so often finds himself expecting). 

The tears come slowly but once he starts cannot seem to stop.  
He’s drowning with nothing to grab onto.

Anakin bites his lip hard, trying to contain the harsh sobs that threaten to escape. He’s trapped with no way out.   
He releases a guttural scream of anguish, of grief, and bites his fist hard. He is burning.

In some ways this is worse than the suffering of his dreams and the agony of his charred flesh. Because it is something that is not real.   
In this life, in this universe, all his memories have never happened and all of his grief means nothing.

Everything he had known- everyone he had fought for, fallen for, died for- has never existed here. 

The knowledge is damning, the despair dragging him under until he can fight no longer. 

So Jim cries, alone on the side of a deserted road a universe (a life) away from everyone he weeps for.


End file.
